Masks
by B2J
Summary: Have you ever wondered who you are? I have. Have you ever gotten a truthful answer? Well, at least that's one of us. Harry has MPD. A glimpse into a multiple mind.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or control his mind, this story can relate to practically anything else. (i don't have anywhere else to put it...).

**Masks**

Have you ever wondered who you are?

I have.

Have you ever gotten a truthful answer?

Well, at least that's one of us.

I can't tell who I am anymore. Too many masks, too many faces to hide under. Because that's what I'm doing, hiding.

Hiding from the world, hiding from those who watch, hiding from myself.

I grow sick of hiding. I want to be free. I want to be me.

Who am I?

Too many masks, too many faces to hide under- I can't do this anymore.

What'll happen when they'll break? When my little, carefully constructed masks, fall apart?

I wonder what they'll think of me then. They- you know who those are; the world, the watchers, myself.

Even more I wonder….no. I yearn to know what they'll see. What my enemies, family, lovers, friends will see. I guess it depends which mask stays on.

The little friendly girl who helps whoever who wants, even is she looks a little annoyed when there are too many askers?

Maybe it'll be the bookworm, nerd, geek who never leaves her place, home, nest unless she has to, unless she needs to. Those times are usually when it all gets too much. This mask is quite breakable, maybe it will break first? Or maybe this will be the only mask that stays on, pretending that nothing's wrong, nothing has changed, that a part of me was never lost, never to be found?

It might be the friendless, scared teen who spends most of his time, his life, wondering if the people that come near him, are there for him or for some other reason.

He could be the one that stays- there are so many reasons why that mask exist; it holds the first two masks above.

An innocent little girl, whose only hope is to be the best, the most perfect she can be. The one that still believes in good and evil, no betweens.

No! It won't be her. Not now, not ever, not anymore.

I think that mask got broken a long time ago. Probably the same time I realized that there was a between, there wasn't hope, there weren't things to help someone, anyone, me become perfect.

The same time I lost my innocence, that mask broke.

The pieces pop out at times, usually when an action film is on; good guys versus bad guys- a joke. This mask believes that, I don't anymore.

One less mask to break.

But there are others, more masks that will break, more that will show. My true self might not be seen, or it might one day, I do not know.

Will they see the young woman who smiles when sad, laughs as she cries and mock others when upset? She sometimes cracks and I'm allowed to snap at those I want, cry when the pain gets too much (I don't care that this mask makes me wait until I'm alone to do so). But most times then not, this mask is the one that holds. It is a part of several other masks, like those I told about before; like the innocent little girl who uses this mask to help herself be perfect when she isn't, when she'll never be, when she never was.

So many masks, so many faces to hide under.

My masks use other masks. One face uses another.

Maybe they won't break, maybe what they'll do, is to make me disappear, so that they'll show for everyone. My masks grow, as one breaks, several others show instead. A while later and then there will be too many masks to count, to keep track of, and I will lose myself to them all. I'll disappear and my masks will appear.

And the worst of it all- no one will know, not one will be able to tell the difference. I will be lost, never found, and yet still here, amongst you all.

I am my masks. Or, should it be; my masks are me.

A child filled with hate, anger, fury! Yet only shows it when alone. And then what comes? The child goes through his box of goodies. The box he stole from his father, the box that no one knew was missing. The child smiles as he pulls his weapon from the box. A box that is filled with the knives his father used to use.

One, two, three lines are made and the smile grows; stretches itself until no more, as more lines are being made. Each near the other, so close, so by the time the child stops, it looks like one big line; thick and long and red, just like he wanted.

That mask is the most controlled of them all. While the others are used at occasion or come out at times, this one is always on, waiting 'till the moment comes and striking when can. The mask that smiles and grins and laughs cracks at times, and this is what comes out.

I said it is the most controlled of them all, because it is. Not by itself, not by free choice, not because it is the one in control, it isn't.

If it was then I would have died a long time ago, I would have ceased to exist due to the child's need...yearn to get rid of his anger, hate, fury!

The child is controlled by the other masks. Controlled not to go too far, not to betray the others and to let go. Because just as I know it, so do the masks; the child may one day, when left alone, go too far.

Am I worried? Am I scared of the power each mask carries?

I don't know, I can't answer that; each is a good answer but not the truth.

The truth is that I am, yet not.

I want to give control, I want to fulfill every mask's desire and yet I want to be me, make my own rules, thoughts and feeling even if the strain of it all might get me killed.

The masks keep me balanced, keep me in line.

I don't care. My masks control me and if they abuse their power, make a decision someone sane, someone who isn't me, think it to be wrong, who am I to fight?

My masks control me, what they decide I follow.

No control, no free choice, sounds horrible but not true.

Those faces I wear were constructed for a reason, they make my life, rule my decisions and I let them.

Should it be so? Should I not be who I really am?

Who am I?

I've been forgotten, I wear a mask, I fool everyone when I'm really fooling myself.

If no one can see me, do I still exist?

If no one can hear me, am I still there?

Existing versus disappearing- Strange that I can do both.

They say I have problems, they laugh behind my back, tease and lie and hurt.

And so, I make my face a mask, a mask that hides my face, a face that hides the pain, a pain that eats my heart, a heart no one knows.

Here it goes!

Perfectly said, one of my favorite quotes, it's up there with the Phantom's: ' a mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing'.

The girl smiles, she laughs it off. 'Nothing can harm me' her eyes tell you, you can't see the lie. 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.' Such a lie, I wished I believed. She giggles, she grins when secretly cries- carefully constructed, an artist's lie.

'Hello, I'm here, can somebody hear me?' I call out from the deep down. 'Please, stop. It hurts and aches, this terrible life!' But no one hears.

To exist and to disappear- I do both.

I tell them I know my problems before making some joke.

They laugh, they brush it off – the mask succeeds, no one heard my cries.

But I do! I know what's wrong. Can I make it stop? Should I let go?

So many answers, so many lies, so many truths.

Perhaps, you could tell me?

I'd like that.

One less decision to make.

Maybe you could be my mask?

Your choice. Never mine.

Goodbye.


End file.
